


Let Hotdogs Be Hotdogs

by The_Amber_Pen



Category: The West Wing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 12:09:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25849324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Amber_Pen/pseuds/The_Amber_Pen
Summary: After the President made the mistake of saying he doesn't like hotdogs in an interview, Josh Lyman produces what he thinks is a good idea to fix the situation.Lighthearted story based on a silly but fun premise, with a few Presidential musings.
Kudos: 13
Collections: Quote Prompt Memes





	Let Hotdogs Be Hotdogs

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [myaimistrue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/myaimistrue/pseuds/myaimistrue) in the [quoteonlyprompts](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/quoteonlyprompts) collection. 



> This story was inspired by the writing prompt: "'I hope you've thought this through.' 'Sure I have. Mostly.'"
> 
> I don't know why but it immediately made me think of the West Wing - it sounded like something Joshua Lyman would say - and so I thought it would be fun to make it so!
> 
> The story is much more dialogue-heavy than my usual writing style because of how the show's scenes and dialogue flow, and I wanted to match that same flow of dialogue.
> 
> (Also, I would say it's very loosely based on the "green bean" plotline from the S2E09 episode "Galileo")
> 
> Enjoy!

"The President regrets his choice of words and wishes not to upset or alienate the millions of Americans that enjoy hotdogs daily."

The Press Corps exploded into a cocktail of waving hands, scribbling pens and reporters shouting "CJ! CJ!" as loudly as they could. CJ pressed a finger to her temple, almost unable to believe what they were discussing. Adjusting her notes on the podium in front of her in lieu of taking a break, she sighed as quietly and discreetly as she could and looked up at the screaming press once more.

"Yes, Katie," she said, pointing at the blonde reporter shouting her name.

"CJ, can you confirm that the President hates hotdogs?" said Katie, lowering her hand and prepping a pen on her notepad to jot down CJ's response.

CJ did her best not to laugh - this had to be one of the more ridiculous briefings she'd been through. "Katie like I said, the president regrets his choice of words and didn't intend to upset anyone."

"Have you ever seen the President eat a hotdog?" she added quickly, stopping CJ from calling on another reporter.

"No I haven't - then again, I haven't seen him eat much else for that matter," she said, raising an amused eyebrow. "Does that mean he hates most food? No, it means I don't eat alongside the President very often." CJ adjusted the papers on her podium again as she said this, as if that made sure it was the final word. "Yes, Steve," she said quickly, pointing at him to try and make sure Katie didn't fire off another question.

"CJ, was the president's remarks about hotdogs an intentional move to distance himself from the majority leader?"

She tilted her head, frowning at him. "I'm sorry?"

"The majority leader was recently photographed at Hogan's Hotdogs, was this a deliberate-"

CJ stifled a laugh as quickly as she could before cutting him off. "There are plenty of things that separate the majority leader and the President, Steve, and believe me when I say that hot dogs is not one we're concerned with."

There was a general murmur of laughter, a nice break in the storm of waving hands and shouting voices. CJ took the lull as her chance to jump.

"That's all I've got for you tonight folks, that's a full lid. And I think even after all this, I'm gonna go get a hotdog." She bundled her papers together and took them under her arm as she left the room, reporters still clamouring and calling her name behind her as she left.

She pushed the door open into the busy White House hallway and started trundling the familiar route to her office.

"CJ!" called Josh, hurrying up behind her from down the corridor. "How'd the hotdog thing go?"

"Well I'm hopeful that the general public won't care enough about hotdogs to make it a problem," she said, glancing back at him but not stopping, continuing to head towards her office.

"You think we should issue an apology?" he said, having now caught up properly and walking beside her.

CJ laughed. "Apologise for saying he doesn't like hotdogs? Should we apologise for not liking Republicans, too?"

"I mean it CJ, hotdogs are part of what it means to be American - like apple pie, or baseball or... heck, hotdogs."

CJ stopped in her tracks and turned to him. "Josh, these are _hotdogs_ we're talking about. _Hotdogs._ Does nobody get that? Who cares?"

"America eats something like 20 billion hotdogs a year, all I'm saying is it's not the craziest idea to apologise."

CJ glared at him, exasperated. She turned and kept walking, pushing open the swinging doors in front of her to the next corridor.

"Look," said Josh quickly, moving to keep pace again. "I have a Hogan's Hotdogs guy in my office and I think it's a good idea if we-"

Once again, CJ stopped. An intern who'd been walking down the same corridor had to swerve drastically to avoid striding straight into them. "A what?"

"A Hogan's Hotdogs guy. A mascot."

"Okay..." said CJ in a long, drawn-out tone. She picked up the pace again and moved forwards once more - she was done stopping for hotdogs. "Why?"

"I'm gonna bring him to see the President for a photo-op. We get a good photo of the President and a Hogan's Hotdogs mascot then we can move on from the bad press we're getting over this hotdog quote."

"You're taking a guy in a hotdog suit into the Oval Office to meet the President?" she said, incredulously, half-hoping that if Josh heard her say it out loud he'd realise how ridiculous it was.

"Yeah."

She shook her head. "I hope you've thought this through."

"Sure I have. Mostly."

He stopped walking, frowning as he watched CJ stride away to her office. People bustled past him in both directions as he stood there, thinking. "I've thought it through," he said to himself, nodding, as if his own words gave his idea extra validity.

He set off down the corridor towards his office, passing several staff members carrying boxes and files. "Donna!" he yelled as he approached his office. She wasn't at her desk. "Donna!" he called again, craning his neck as he walked towards his office to see if she was in there. He reached the doorway.

"So do you get tired of dressing like a hotdog or is it still fun for you?" said Donna, smiling at the young man in the comically large hotdog suit sitting in Josh's office. He only barely fit in the chair with the outfit on, the sides of the hotdog buns squeezing out.

"I'm sorry," said Josh, leaning on the doorway. He directed his words at the hotdog mascot, but kept looking at Donna. "Will you excuse us for one moment?" he said, gesturing for Donna to join him outside the office.

Donna stood up straight and smiled at the mascot. "Nice meeting you," she said as she left the room.

Josh was pawing at his forehead as he waited for Donna to join him by her desk. "This is a good idea, right?" he said as she emerged from his office.

"What is?"

"The hotdog guy."

"It's an idea, that's for sure."

"Donna," he sighed, holding his forehead again.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Josh," she said in a half-laugh, moving over to her desk and rummaging through a drawer as if looking for some files. "It's a guy in a hotdog suit."

"Yeah but it's a good idea, right, I mean - we've thought it through?"

"It's a good idea," Donna smiled, in a placating, not-very-convincing tone. "You've thought it through. You're a great thinker of our time."

Josh waved her away with his hand. "It's a good idea," he said. "I'm going to take him now." Josh moved towards his office.

"Don't forget to bring ketchup and mustard!" she called, laughing as he disappeared into his office.

Josh took a few steps inside his office and eyed up the man. His costume meant that the only part of him that he could actually see was his face poking out of the sausage part of the hotdog. He looked very young, his face plump and rosy red with youth, and his expression was some kind of mixture of excitement, nervousness and nausea.

"You ready, Jim?" said Josh, patting the mascot on the shoulder. At least, where he thought his should would be in that suit.

Jim the Hotdog stood up as he took notice of Josh. "Yes, sir."

"You nervous?"

"Yes, sir."

"Don't be," Josh smiled, taking a step back and gesturing for Jim to exit the office with him. "President's going to love you."

Jim followed along and the two men left the office, heading down the corridor towards the Oval Office.

"I'm actually going to meet the President, sir?" he said as they walked, a definite note of nervousness in his voice.

"Let me tell you something, Jim, not only are you going to meet the President, but you my friend, are going to be in a picture with him."

Jim didn't respond, but Josh was fairly certain that even over the noise of the corridor he could hear him gulp.

"Josh!" called a voice from behind.

"Sam," said Josh, glancing back and responding to his voice.

Sam walked alongside them. "Have you seen Leo? I wanted to talk to him about the Hartford Rights Bill." In a tone that was as normal and as business-like as ever, he continued, "what's with the hotdog?"

"I'm from Hogan's Hotdogs," said Jim, offering a small, awkward wave.

"This is Jim," said Josh, in a sort of snicker. "He's our ticket to getting out of this hotdog mess."

"Hotdog mess?" echoed Sam, glancing between Josh and Jim repeatedly.

"Yeah, you haven't heard? The President said something about how Hogan's Hotdogs are lame and I'm gonna fix it."

"With a guy in a hotdog suit?"

"Yeah, we're going to see him now, it's the perfect photo op." He held his hands out in front of him as he said this, mimicking the frame of a camera.

"I see," said Sam, in a tone that suggested that he definitely did not see. "Josh, you've thought this through, right?"

Josh threw his hands up in the air as he walked. "Yeah, I have! Look you don't know the mess, you don't get it, trust me. This is a surefire way to win some points."

Sam shrugged. "Okay, well if you see Leo, tell him I'm looking for him."

"Yeah."

Sam peeled off down another corridor and disappeared. With Jim the Hotdog in tow, Josh strode confidently into the room adjacent to the Oval Office, where he was greeted by Charlie. Toby was also there, and seemed to be sitting quietly in the corner, waiting.

"Charlie, is he in there?" said Josh, pointing at the door to the Oval Office.

Charlie looked up from his desk and his expression immediately morphed from neutral to confused as he spotted Jim. "Yeah," he said, his eyes trailing from Josh and fixing on Jim. "Uhh..." he mumbled, as if not only unsure about what was going, but what question should even be asked.

"This is Jim," Josh nodded, answering Charlie's unvoiced question. "Has he got a minute?" Josh pointed at the door again.

"Josh," came Toby's voice. It was dripping with cynicism and disbelief. "What... what are you doing?"

"This is Jim," Josh repeated, as if this would clear things up. "He's from Hogan's Hotdogs and I was going to-"

"No," said Toby, quietly.

"Toby I'm not sure you understand, see I'm-"

"Josh, please tell me you're not about to bring a guy in a hotdog suit to the Oval Office."

"We're gonna have a photo-op, the President will say he really _does_ like hotdogs, and then-"

"You really didn't think this through, did you?"

Once again, Josh threw his hands up into the air, this time a little higher. "Yes I did!" he said, visibly reddening with frustration. "Why does everyone keep saying that?"

Before Toby responded, the sound of a phone clicking came from Charlie's desk. Josh looked around to see Charlie putting the phone down and glancing at Toby.

"He's free for you now, Toby," said Charlie, writing something down in a booklet in front of him.

"Thanks," said Toby, standing up, swishing his suit jacket and heading for the Oval Office door.

"We're coming too, come on Jim," said Josh, following Toby through the doorway.

At the far end of the room, behind the grand desk, stood President Bartlet. He was reading some kind of document on his desk before he glanced up at them, tugging the reading glasses away from his face.

"Can someone tell me," he began, looking at the three of them as they lined up in the room. "Am I having wild hallucinations, or is there a giant hotdog in my office?"

"Sir, this is Jim, he's from Hogan's Hotdogs," said Josh, stepping forwards. "I brought him here to help with the hotdog problem we're having."

Toby cleared his throat and spoke in a tone that, although muted in his usual way, definitely indicated that he couldn't quite believe what he was saying. "Sir, please let it be known that I'm not here with Josh and the giant hotdog, I'm here for something else."

"Let me guess," said the President, setting the reading glasses down on the desk. "You've got a giant hamburger waiting outside that's here to meet me?"

"No, sir," said Toby, cracking the tiniest of half-smiles, "I came here to talk to you about Hoynes."

The President's eyes narrowed slightly as he watched Toby. He nodded almost imperceptibly. "Yeah, okay." He turned his gaze towards Josh. "And you want me to apologise to this hotdog, is that right?"

"Not quite sir, no," said Josh with an indulging smile. "Sir, I believe it's in our best interest to get a photo with Jim here, he's a Hogan's Hotdogs mascot and I think it'll go a long way to clearing up that you do actually like hotdogs."

"But I _don't_ like hotdogs."

"Sir, I-"

"Josh, hotdogs are fine, I just find them a little dull. They're more about what you put _on_ them than the actual hotdog itself."

Jim spoke and raised his hand, as if this was a necessary practice when speaking in the Oval Office. "It's true."

"You see?" said the President, returning his reading glasses to the documents in front of him. "Even the hotdog itself agrees with me."

"Mister President," said Josh, taking a few steps closer to the desk. "My concern is that we're going to lose points over something we can fix. Heck, something we can turn into a win for us."

The President glanced up at Josh in some form of mingled disbelief and disappointment. He slowly removed his reading glasses again. "Josh, believe it or not, a photo-op with a hotdog is not the silver bullet my presidency needs. I've got a meeting with Fitzwallace in five minutes about potentially hostile contact with an otherwise friendly foreign power, I've got a bill that I'm pretty sure congress is going to shoot down, and to top it all off I've got the Hotdog Alliance of America breathing down my neck because in an interview yesterday I suggested that I _may_ not have been wild about Hogan's Hotdogs."

There was a short pause spent in silence, before the President continued.

"Don't you think I have enough on my plate without having to deal with looking ridiculous on national news networks for posing alongside a hotdog next to the seal of the President? You don't think that picture might be used to belittle me?"

Josh stared at his shoes. "I, uhh..." he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Josh, you brought a strange man dressed in a hotdog suit," his eyes darted to Jim, "no offence, by the way," he added, before looking back at Josh. Jim nodded, his face somehow reddening more than it was already. "You brought a strange man in a hotdog suit into the Oval Office, because you thought it would be a good idea to get the leader of the free world to pose with a him?" The President waited for a response that didn't come. He narrowed his eyes as he watched Josh, although not without the ghost of a smile flitting across his face.

"I... may not have thought this through, sir," he conceded, finally speaking, still rubbing the back of his neck. "Jim, uh, let's just..." he looked around for the door, even though he knew exactly where it was. "Let's head back to my office, we can, uhh... Thank you, Mister President."

Josh bowed his head slightly as he ushered Jim out of the room and then left too, closing the door behind him.

"The ' _Hotdog Alliance of America'_ , sir?" said Toby, with the tiniest of grins.

"Yeah I'm sure there's probably something like that out there. Maybe the 'Hotdog Lovers League' is better. You like hotdogs, Toby?" said the President, moving the files he'd been reading on his desk.

"I like hotdogs every now and then, sir."

"You put something on it?"

"Mustard, ketchup and onions, sir."

"You wouldn't have it on its own?"

"Not really no, sir, that sounds - for lack of a better term - boring."

The President extended his arms out from his sides. "That's what I'm sayin'."

There was a knock at the door, followed by Charlie stepping in slightly. "Sir," he said, directing his attention to the President. "Fitzwallace for you."

"Thanks, Charlie," said the President. "Toby, I've gotta do a thing, can it wait?"

Toby glanced from Charlie to the President, clearly a little annoyed that his meeting had been ruined by Josh and a giant hotdog. "For a while I suppose, yes sir," he said, finally.

"Great, we'll talk later. Thanks."

"Thank you, Mister President," he said, slipping out of the room past Fitzwallace, giving him a polite nod as he passed.

"You must be having quite the day, sir," said Fitzwallace as he walked further into the room, gesturing with his hand back towards the door he came from.

"What, the hotdog guy? Nah, that's just Ted just from the White House Counsel, he always dresses like that."

Fitzwallace chuckled. "Yes, sir."

The President gestured towards a sofa with his hand. "Have a seat." He rounded his desk and headed towards him, planting himself in an armchair next to the sofa that Fitzwallace had settled on. "So... what have we got?"

"Sir, as we covered this morning we had an F-117 Nighthawk Fighter downed while running a routine training op in Qumari airspace from one of our bases. As discussed, we scrambled a recovery team to try and find the pilot."

"Malcolm Roberts?"

"Yes, sir," said Fitzwallace.

The President nodded and glanced away for a moment, then back at Fitzwallace, a calm silence in the room as he watched him. He'd always liked him, there was never a point where he felt like he was being disrespected or not being given a chance to speak. This moment of silence was his way of giving the President time to interject.

"And did we? Find him, I mean?"

"No, sir, that's the update I have for you at the moment," said Fitzwallace, adjusting himself in his seat. "A team went in and found the plane, the ejector seat had been successfully deployed but there was no sign of Lieutenant Roberts. Odds suggests he was taken captive by whoever managed to take down the plane."

The President ran a hand over his hair, distractedly. "I see," he said, finally, leaning forwards in his seat and holding his hands clasped together. "And we don't know yet if this was a planned attack from Qumar?"

"No sir, as far as we know we're still allies with Qumar, there's been no declaration of official hostilities."

"So it's terrorist activity."

"We believe so, yes sir."

The President nodded solemnly, glancing down at the presidential seal in the middle of the carpet. "So, what happens now?"

"We've got contacts in the region we're reaching out to for help, and in the meantime we're going to monitor any communications to see if we can find anything mentioning the Lieutenant."

"And if he's dead, Fitz?"

"That's what we'll find out soon, sir."

The President sighed as he stood up and redid the button on his suit jacket. "Alright," he said, resignedly.

Fitzwallace also stood up. "I'll come back if I have anything more for you, sir."

There was a knock at another door to the Oval Office, followed by Leo stepping through from his office.

"Sorry, Mister President," he said, glancing between the President and Fitzwallace as he stood in the doorway. "I didn't mean to interrupt, I'll come back."

"That's okay, Leo," said the President, walking around and back behind his desk. He stood there with his hands in his pockets, still contemplating the missing fighter pilot in his mind. "It was only a quick update, we're done for now. Thanks Fitz."

"Thank you, Mister President," said Fitzwallace, taking his cue to leave and turning around.

"Fitz?" said the President, just as Fitzwallace had opened the door to exit.

He stopped, the door half-open. "Yes, sir?"

"Malcom Roberts?"

"Yes, sir."

The President's eyes narrowed. "Get him back."

Fitzwallace nodded. "Yes, sir."

Leo turned to the President as Fitzwallace closed the door behind him. He approached the desk.

"Sir, I just thought I'd give you a heads up in case he tries it," said Leo, a tone of near-disbelief in his voice. "Josh has a Hogan's Hotdogs guy in his office, and because of the whole hotdog thing I think he had the idea to bring him to you. I'm gonna get Sam to talk him out of it, I don't really know what's gotten in to him today."

"A Hogan's Hotdog guy?" said the President, folding his arms and smiling. "A guy in a hotdog suit, you mean?"

"Yes, sir; the sausage, the bun, the whole works."

"Say that's not a bad idea," said the President, feigning curiosity. "We could get the young man in here for a photo-op with me, we could even do it right next to the seal of the President," he said, pointing at the seal on the carpet. "Might help my polling numbers - what do you think?"

Leo stared at him blank-faced for several moments. The tiniest of smiles broke across the President's lips as they stared at each other. Leo smiled almost embarrassedly. "He's already been in here?"

"He's already been in here. Not only that but the hotdog himself agreed with me about hotdogs!"

"Well maybe we should make him Hotdog Ambassador to the White House."

"I agree, we could have him speak on all matters hotdog." The President smiled, but then cleared his throat. "Can you make sure Josh thinks things through before bringing people in costumes in here?"

Leo nodded. "Yeah, I'll speak with him. I think something must be on his mind; even he's not strange enough to think it was a good idea."

"Thanks, Leo." The President put his hands in his pockets. "Is that all?"

"Yes, sir," said Leo, pivoting back towards the door. "I'll speak to Josh."

There was a short silence as Leo made his way towards the door. The President let his arms fall from their folded position and slowly looked around the room, seemingly lost in thought. He strode around the room until he reached a window, and stared out. Just as Leo was about to step through the doorway and out of the room, the President stopped him.

"Leo," he said, still staring out of the window, like he was talking to his own reflection. "Do you ever feel like we're just... putting on a song and dance here?"

Leo stopped at the doorway and spun around, looking clearly perplexed about the question. He scratched at his jaw. "Sir?"

"Do you ever feel like we get so distracted with _looking_ like we're doing a good job, we don't get time to actually _do_ a good job?" The President turned to face Leo, his hands in his pockets. He sighed. "I mean I've spent today thinking about what not to say about hotdogs, CJ's spent today defending me about hotdogs, and I don't even need to mention Josh..."

Leo watched him as he spoke - he knew him well enough to know where there was more he had to say.

"I've had updates all day from Fitz," the President continued, now pacing a little between windows. "About the fighter pilot downed in Qumar. I want to get him back. Not because it'll win me points but because that is an _American_ citizen," he said, stopping at his desk to tap his finger for emphasis.

Leo nodded; he had been in the situation room this morning, too. He knew what the President was getting at - the safe return of the fighter pilot would win him a bump in points, and he was feeling angry at himself and guilty about having ever thought that. Leo was very glad that news of the downed fighter pilot hadn't broke to the press yet - he wasn't sure the President could handle more pressure on that situation than he seemed to be under now.

The President stopped pacing. "And we're fighting a war with congress to get through a bill that I think is purely common sense," he said, gesturing at the absurdity of such a thing with his hand. "Where in all that is the governing? Where in all that do we get to make actual progress?" There was silence for a few moments. "Why aren't we tackling poverty instead? Or healthcare? Taxes? Equal rights?"

Leo cleared his throat. "We _are_ doing those things."

"Are we though?"

Leo tilted his head, a stony expression on his face. "Yes, sir."

The President sighed. "Sometimes it feels like we're just going through the motions."

"Getting that bill through congress wouldn't just be going through the motions," said Leo, his voice certain and comforting. "That's actual progress."

The President nodded. After a moment or so, he moved back to his desk and took his seat. "Yeah," he said finally, picking up his reading glasses. "We'll see."

"Will there be anything else, sir?"

"No, you can go," he said, now leafing through the documents on his desk once more.

"Thank you, Mister President," said Leo, turning around towards the door again. He closed the door softly behind him as he left.

The President kept shifting through the documents, shuffling them around on the large desk space he had to work with. He knew there were a few things in there he needed to sign, a few things in there he needed to review, and a few other things he needed to address. He knew there was a lot to be done.

But, despite it all, he was left thinking mostly about hotdogs, bad PR, and how long it takes for press stories like these to go away.

So he got his papers in order, picked up a pen, and went through the motions.


End file.
